All The Time I Have Left
by KrazackLear
Summary: Zaun belongs to Ekko, and the Lost. When two people come, asking for help protecting it, he doesn't think too much of it. Jinx wasn't supposed to be too much of an issue; but she has friends in Zaun, and they have much bigger plans... And someone he never wanted to meet will soon be a beacon of hope. Linked with 'Vi Stands For Caitlyn' and 'A Road Paved With The Best Intentions.'
1. Running out

AN:

In case you haven't read the summary, or want some clarification, yes, this is going to be a M/M, sexually graphic story. I know some people just aren't into that; and that's fine. Just like my other stories I'm marking with AN's when there's going to be a lemon, and you can skip them if you want.

Either way, review, comment, PM me, come and throw eggs at my house...

* * *

The teenager strolled slowly down the hallway, one hand flipping a small metal plate, the other counting down with two fingers extended.

"Three… Two… One." The plate rose into the air and deflected a bullet aimed for his forehead, the next two whizzing past as he threw himself against a wall.

"You are ruining my art! I must protest that you have yet to get SHOT!" The muffled voice echoed down the hallway, tight on the tail of the bullet that glowed and spat smoke, though Ekko had no time to see it as he pulled the cord attached to his waist and the world glowed blue. For a second he hung suspended in time, then the bullet slowly floated backwards, as if attached with a cord, and in the next heartbeat-

* * *

The teenager strolled slowly down the hallway, one hand flipping a small metal plate, the other counting down with two fingers extended.

"Three… Two… One." The plate rose into the air and deflected a bullet aimed for his forehead, the next two whizzing past as he threw himself against a wall.

"You are ruining my art! I must protest that you have yet to get SHOT!" The muffled voice echoed down the hallway, tight on the tail of the bullet that glowed and spat smoke, though Ekko had no time to see it as he fell to his hands and knees, the bullet slamming into the wall above him and blowing a hole in it. Sunlight streamed in, lighting up the figure a dozen metres ahead of him. An ivory hump rose from the chassis that held it together, the painstakingly carved porcelain mask covering its face in stark contrast to the smoking rifle the man held in both hands.

"Why do you resist? I offer you immortality, beauty in a form made of purest stardust… Death, at my hands!" The man stood up, hands moving in precise but flaunting, exaggeratedly showy movements. Ekko snarled, hiding his fear.

"I resist for the people of Zaun! They deserve justice to be delivered!" He gestured to the crumpled corpses surrounding the Virtuoso, then dashed forwards.

* * *

It took four tries to knock the madman out, and five to get him to the people who wanted him without getting jumped by a gang. Normally, Ekko didn't work bounties. He was guided more by morals than sacks of cash. But even the most righteously justified of people needs to eat, sleep, and pay bribes to the gangs so no one ransacked your crib every other day. It helped that he was going to crack Jhin over the head anyway; why not get payed for it? The people he delivered the maniac to were shady, secretive, and probably doing something definitely illegal. But then again, so was everyone else in Zaun, and when they offered him more jobs for more criminals, all of which he had plans for besides, the offer was too gold-plated to put him off with the fishy smell. He spent weeks hunting psycho after scumbag after ganger, raking in the dough and giving it to families who lost parents and houses and jobs. In Zaun, it was all too easy to run to the black-market gangs, replacing lost limbs or taking loans for a week's food, slipping further and further until they were drowning and the Chem-Barons owned them, their family, their soul.

And they would collect.

Ekko knew it himself. He'd seen it firsthand, more times than he could count; it filled him with black rage when he couldn't even remember the faces of those he saved day after day. At least he hadn't forgotten the most important faces, his friends, his parents. He was a guardian, now, a symbol of revolution for an oppressed population with no teeth, and he couldn't forsake them. It was what he knew was right, even if his friends couldn't help him. One day he knew he'd seek them out, but today wasn't that day.

He pulled the cord on his waist, folding back five minutes ago, regaining the time lost brooding. He was standing on a roof's edge, looking out over the most dangerous slum the city had to offer, watching as the people went about their business. About to step back from the edge and locate his next contract, something stopped him. A single spot of pink among the drab grey and brown, bobbing towards him in a sea of people. Once he saw that, the darker purple hat protruding from the crowd was obvious, and he wasn't sure whether to smile, cry, or punch something when he realized what it means.

* * *

They walk right up to his door and knock. He recognizes them both; he'd had his eye on Vi for at least two years. At first, she was a threat; another ganger that was particularly effective and ruthless. Then, she vanished. Her gang collapsed from the power vacuum. People just thought she was dead; the Chem-Barons had decided she had outlived her usefulness, despite her reputation, or maybe she'd been captured and dumped in an unmarked grave. But then, the vilest and most merciless gangs start to be picked apart. The Factorywood Fiends are destroyed overnight, then others. The culprit isn't subtle, but they're good; no clues, no trail, just violent retribution.

But Caitlyn? Who hasn't heard of her? Infamous for being utterly ruthless, completely fixated, and wearing slutty dresses. Tales of her outfits and the possibilities surrounding them are popular in the sump, though he's more interested in her actions topside. She looks out of place; in the sump, next to the pinkette violence-factory that is Vi, and knocking on his door. He comes up behind them and calls out to them, but his voice cracks. He pulls the ripcord and tries again but he startles them and Caitlyn spins, taking a shot. Third time round he trips. Overall it takes more resets than he'd like. Of course that's all mostly irrelevant when the Chem-Thugs arrive. The fight is difficult, but he has to admit, Vi can kick some serious ass. Should he ever need some muscle, she'd be a good friend to have.

But as soon as the fight ends, all he can think about is his parents. They still don't know of his other life. They're so tired, they don't have time for anything other than their jobs and sleeping. They barely eat. But now… Well he has no choice. He considers rewinding, but he steels his spine. He cannot have a perfect life; he knows that. He's lost friends. For now, all he can do is make the best of an average situation. Vi offers her house; he accepts. Caitlyn offers her aid; he accepts. He promises to enquire after this strange girl, but that is, for now, a long way from his thoughts. They depart, leaving the broken bodies of a dozen gangers, and the corpse of Grendel, a huge bloated thing, more Chemtech than man. Ekko has clashed against him before, and now he was so easily defeated. His arms are shaking by the time he manages to dump all the bodies into a pool of noxious chemicals. He slumps into a chair and waits. Every ten minutes or so he rewinds and performs an errand; the limits of the Z-drive. Two hours pass before his parents arrive from work. They vaguely mention the battle-scarred street outside and ask him how his day was. His mother's eyes can barely stay open. So many times Ekko has wanted to tell them; he has money, more than enough to support them, move them up to Piltover like they wanted. But that isn't what he wants; Zaun is his home, and he can see the spirit underneath that no one else can, the vigour that breathes life under the smog and caustic gasses. His crew, the Lost Children, they make a difference, they live, they have fun and eke out their own place here in the dark. But he had been so scared, so concerned over the consequences… But now, he is galvanised into action.

They normally leave long before he can talk to them, and they don't come back together. Today is a rare occasion. The last time he could remember it happening was his nameday. They got him a pastry from Elline. His ears burn at the memory. He can feel their love for him, but the sight of them aging and withering away before made his stomach turn. He'd never told them his intentions to stay, but for once in his life, he's out of time. He has to do it now. It takes three times to do it. He can't get the words out, can't bring himself to break their dreams and shatter their fragile reality. But he won't do it anymore. Won't lie.

* * *

"Hey, mum. Hey, dad." Just like the last time, he wishes he could say something more, but it would seem cheap considering his next words. They murmur a greeting, a ghost of a smile, and sit. His father pretends to rest his head in his hand and nods off. His mother just closes her eyes and slips away. He sighs.

"Hey, mum, dad, listen I need to talk, why don't we have some water?" He rushes it, like a deflating balloon, but they don't seem to notice. They nod and smile and seem to summon a reserve they're building up like their meagre savings.

"What did you - *yawn* - need?" He coughs and rubs his neck and places the Z-Drive onto the table. It makes a concerning whizzing noise. They both look at it like they do everything else he presented to them; that over-exuberant, easily faked focus that is familiar to parents everywhere. He gestures to it.

"This is my Z-Drive. It's Hextech." They both gasp. Actual tears come to his father's eyes.

"My little genius… I always knew you were destined for great things!" His mother almost goes to stand up and come round to hug him, but her body rebels and stands taut like a wire before collapsing again.

"Oh, my son, you'll make such an impression on those academy scholars!" There's a moment of silence.

"What does it do?" They look at it in a sort of glazed-interest. They have no idea what it is. What it does. Who he is. They couldn't build a plank with nails in it. He can build Hextech machines of complexity that still sometimes outpaces his skills. The Timewinder was a re-hash of a failed experiment. He corrals his thoughts.

"It rewinds time. Pull this cord, you get thrown back up to about ten minutes. It varies. I'd show it off, but…" He trails off, trying to say what he wants to, what he needs to. He realizes they didn't really hear his explanation, and expect him to keep talking.

"I'm not going to Piltover." He says it slowly and measuredly, tasting the words. They are bitter. His father's face slowly folds into a frown, his mouth hanging open. His mother freezes like it interferes with her thoughts.

"It's a long story, but I… This is my home. This is where all I know exists. Piltover is a gilded trap, waiting to spring." He thinks of Vi, and Caitlyn. "Well, okay, some of it is alright. But the academies? The houses? They don't give a golden Hex for us! We can't live in their shadow, thinking they're better than us. We… We can do it without them, and I'm going to show everyone." He sighs. His mother's eyes focus on him and her face breaks out into a smile. His father chuckles and wipes moisture from his eyes. Ekko can't believe it.

"Oh… Oh, my little boy…" He glances between them, fists clenched. The Z-Drive hums incessantly.

"So… So, you aren't mad?" His father's jaw wags, indecisive, and then drives into a concerted motion.

"Well… I… We always wanted you to move onto better things. Piltover represents your only future… You don't belong here, in this sump, son! You deserve so much more!" This is more words than they've spoken in weeks. His voice is stronger than his failing body, which seems not to realize it is fading like a bad memory.

"Zaun has it all. You can't see it, but I can. Your lives… Surely you can see it's destroying you? Your Zaun isn't the one I know; slaving at the feet of the rich and strong. But the Zaun I know… I would trade nothing for it, and to see us rise out of the ruins and refuse of their city, and prove them wrong!" He's panting. His voice rings with a hollow tone in the cramped confines of their home. He realizes he's standing, and slumps back down. His parents watch him in a speculative manner, their eyes watchful, but not judging. He can't be more glad.

"And… I made a decision, today. You saw the street. There was a fight." They nod as an afterthought. "In Piltover, there's a girl causing death and destruction. A… Friend… Came and asked me for help. I agreed. Grendel didn't want that. He paid the price." Their eyes widen. His mother smiles, proud, then immediately her expression sours.

"You fought him!?" Her voice is a window into the past, and for someone who is as intimate with it as he is, that's not normally that amazing.

"Yes, mum. I fight. All the time. Vigilnauts, Chem-Thugs, sometimes a Warden." He quickly drives on, to pre-empt any response. "But that isn't important. I do what I have to, to make Zaun a better place, to help those who can't help themselves. And that fight was a part of it. So, mum, dad, we… Well we have to move house." He didn't want to dump too much on them at once but he managed to get out one confession so what's another few dozen?

"The Chem-Barons know where I live now. They know I'm cooperating with their enemies. They're going to be coming for us." He can see their world collapsing around them through their eyes. His mum nods like he was telling them about a new friend. Whereas she is more calm and accepting, his father is more in shock. "So… Pack your things." He rubs his hands and avoids looking at them. He clips the glowing cylinder back to his belt. They all stand at the same moment and before he can realize it they have him trapped in a hug. It's awkward; they're bony and weak, and he isn't sure what to do. But he can feel their love, and he knows that they will support him. He can feel it, a shift in the atmosphere. He's been taking his time, waiting for the right moment. It's arrived, knocked on his door.

And that moment, under the eye of The Boy Who Shattered Time, will splinter and seed a revolution across Runeterra.


	2. Going up

AN:

Sorry for the long wait, but the rest of our characters get to meet...

* * *

He leaves his parents to acclimatise to their new home. They're so… _Alive_ , now. Like they've woken up from a bad dream. Colour is flooding back into them. Life. They smile and laugh and walk like normal people. He's happy, to see them… Happy. But he knows that it might not last. He needs to protect them. The Lost already require a lot of his attention, and up until now, it's been almost all of what he does. So he's going to need some help, to protect them all. And to fulfil his promise. He never imagined he'd make a deal with the Wardens, but frankly, those two weren't as bad as he imagined. Vi was cool, and Caitlyn was… Well, at least she was polite. And her dress - or lack of one - was… Nice.

He nods to one of his friends who stands outside the door. For now, he'll keep watch, try to get them out if someone other than Vi comes knocking. He strolls down the street. This is one of the few concessions he allows himself. If he was to sprint everywhere, he'd get tired out much quicker, and then he wouldn't be able to rewind as much. So some days go by and all he's done is walk, peacefully, have some fun. Those are his favourite days.

They don't come by very often, so, more than he would like, he has to make them.

No one mugs him, down here in the sump. They all know who he is. They all recognise him. Most of them, he knows. He's helped them. They've helped him. He'll have to tell them, about Piltover's Finest. They might not take it well, but he's really good at pickup lines with the help of his Z-Drive, so it can't be that much harder. That's the first order of business. There're a lot of names to remember, all of the children that no one wanted. No one wants. No one but him. Sometimes, he forgets. Forgets their faces. He doesn't want to let it happen, but sometimes, there are just more important things to do. There are a lot of Lost-and-Founds across the city, where the Lost live. They're all unique; the Lost tend to group together just like other people; based on interests. Some will be bursting, overgrown with plants and strange, natural structures. Some will be made of the finest carved architecture. One is little more than a glorified arena. All of them are unique, equally beautiful and amazing in their own right, just like the people in them.

Today, he has a few specific goals in mind, though often they get side-lined by more pressing matters, like a pretty girl or a few jumped-up Chem-Thugs. One of these quests is to get his old place rigged and watched. He wanted to know who came looking for him, and then to give them a surprise for their efforts. The second was to get over to the newest Lost-and-Found, see how they were doing. He hadn't heard from them in a bit, though they were relatively new anyway. The last thing on the list…

Both Viktor, the Machine Herald, and Jayce, the Defender of Tomorrow, had extended a hand in friendship.

One hard and cold, unfeeling and unyielding, but well-earned, by the toil of sweat and blood and innovation.

The other, though human, just as unfeeling; gilded, barely recognizable, draped in furs, far above, topside.

Viktor was a man of means. There was little he couldn't do, nor be willing to do, but that might not be a good thing.

Jayce, whilst by all accounts a startling genius capable of all that Viktor was, has a lot stronger morals.

Ekko has never met either, but the amount of rumours, tall tales and daring exploits he's heard of the two is, frankly, startling. There are so many it quickly becomes hard to separate fact from fiction, and indeed, fiction from other fiction. If every story were to be believed, Viktor would be a mixture of a glorious saviour - that's mostly from the Glorious Evolved, a cult of augmentation-freaks who deify robotics, abhor flesh, and wish for nothing but for humans to be eclipsed entirely by machines - and sick, twisted madman, who cannot see the good in flesh and humanity. Jayce isn't a lot better, but at least he dislikes augmentation. Ekko, and the Lost, share these sentiments, to set them apart from the Chem-Baron lackeys.

He shrugs, supposing it wasn't ever really a choice. The Defender of Tomorrow it was.

Their first meeting ends… Poorly. But we haven't got there yet, Ekko still has some things to do beforehand.

Ekko makes his way to the one person he knows of that has ever met the man, as he doesn't want to meet him on his own terms. Any agent or spokesperson would twist his view, and he didn't need it. The little girl had met him perhaps a few months ago, not far after the time when Jayce came down from his shiny house and, apparently, beat the crap out of Viktor. She had no shortage of people to show her toy to; even he had taken a look at it. He had to admit it was well built, but he felt a certain disgust at the concept; his machines and inventions worked best when they did something unintended, such as the Timewinder. Jayce was a man of ends, not of methods; he cared not for the journey, for the excitement of each twist and turn in life. Admittedly, Ekko was much better at it because he could rewind anything that didn't go perfectly, so it was much easier to take risks.

The little girl had told him three key facts. He was cool, and smart, and beautiful like a prince, and he'd fixed her favourite toy. He'd protected her and fought well. And he was an absolute prick. Ekko could live with that. Some people thought _he_ was a prick, especially when he beat them up or stole their stuff. Maybe Jayce wasn't so bad.

* * *

He frowned, leaning back against the wall. He was standing on the corner of his old home's street, looking down. The Zaun Grey had thickened so he couldn't see very far, and he made sure to take shallow breaths to avoid sucking too much into his lungs. He'd have to make some sort of… Re-breather, or something. He was broken from his reverie when his eyes alighted onto the thing he was looking for; it was the only man on the street to have an offensive augmentation. There were plenty who had replacement limbs, skin grafts, cosmetic changes… But this man had a sword sticking out the end of his arm. It was clearly attached to a piston of some kind, maybe spring loaded. He was standing opposite Ekko's door, the most bored looking watcher he'd ever seen. He was playing with something in his other hand, and occasionally looked about, scanning. So he was good, at least, even if he was bored. One of the more veteran thugs and bandits under the employ of the Chem-Barons. He wasn't wearing a crest, probably to blend in more.

They clearly wanted his ass bad. He smirked and checked the Z-Drive, just in case, then started strolling. The first rule of the sump; only marks go in through the front door. But for once, he wanted them to think he was a mark. He got a few doors down before the thug noticed him, but neither reacted, waiting for the other to get closer. Ekko was fine with that. He crossed, going up to his door and pretended to take out a key. He heard the click of something metal sliding against metal. It didn't sound like a sword, more like… Racking a pistol. He spun as the bullet made a neat hole in his door. Guess the thing he was playing with was a gun. Ekko quickly twisted the dial on his wrist, and in an exploding flurry of blue light and shards of time, he appeared back at the end of the street.

His heart was racing. That could have been it. If he hadn't heard the gun, he could be dead, and he can't pull the Z-Drive then. He leant against a wall and wiped his brow, just breathing and enjoying life. The Grey didn't help with that, but he was used to it such that he could ignore it - partially. Such a close call had happened precious few times in his life, and he imagined that there would be many more. He rewound, gaining lost time, and prepared himself.

"Why are you here!? Who sent you!?" The Chem-Thug looked much less intimidating and impressive with Ekko's foot pressing his face to the floor. Greenish, viscous Chem leaked from a broken tube, making a sizzling sound as it pooled across the pavement. His gun was in Ekko's hand, a simple stub revolver; he'd give it to one of the Lost. Weapons were few and far between, and as little as he liked it, they needed to be prepared for raids, now more so than ever. His reply was muffled by Ekko's foot, and he couldn't hear it. He wasn't sure how to react. This wasn't as cool or effective as it seemed. He removed his foot and prepared to flip the guy over so he could maybe put his foot on his chest instead, and found himself on the floor, the guy pinning him down.

Sighing, Ekko turned the dial on his wrist, and once again was thrown backwards in a storm of blue flecks. Try again.

* * *

"Why are you here?! Who sent you?!" The Chem-Thug looked much less intimidating and impressive with Ekko's bat jammed under his chin, pressed against a wall. Something on his back was making an awful hissing sound, but at least he could hear him this time. The thug's face was scared, twitchy.

"Voss! I-It was Voss! He wants to talk! He just-" Ekko jams the bat into his throat, cutting him off and setting him spluttering. He feels just a little bad.

"Voss doesn't want to talk to anyone, and especially so when they send an augmented thug with a gun!" They glare at each other, a silent battle of wills. Ekko thinks he's winning until the man spits at his feet.

"I won't tell you shit, kid, so stop gobbing and finish it!" Ekko rewinds, and this time substitutes a glaring contest with violence. He slams his heel down on the man's foot with a crunch. The sound makes his teeth hurt, but it works.

"O-Okay, okay, I was gonna end you! Voss is working with Viktor, and he knew that you might start working with him. Then you'd be off limits! He, uh, struck pre-emptively!" Ekko scoffs and steps back, letting the man collapse to his ass on the street, panting. He thought one thug would be enough?

"And he thought you would be enough to kill me? Alone?" As he said the words out loud, he realized he knew the answer. Voss was sadistic, murderous, and malignant, but not stupid. He spun, revealing another dozen people seeping out the alleys and doorways like the Grey that pervaded everything. He was surrounded. Idiot.

He felt a cold piece of metal come to rest against the small of his back. It pierced his clothes, then his skin, and slowly started to sink deeper, the man savouring the moment. The spring holding it back from the kill started to whine under the tension. Ekko quickly twisted the dial, cutting his own death short. It took him what felt like days to take them all out one-by-one in the dark, silent enough to not alert the others. He left the man in the street to last, witless.

* * *

"And he thought you would be enough to kill me? Alone?" The man chuckled, his eyes darkening.

"I'm not alone!" He said it loudly, and his voice bounced from house to house. There was no reply. A tongue darts out and wets suddenly oh-so-dry lips. He tries again, voice louder but weaker.

"I am - NOT - ALONE!" Ekko's smile was, he had to admit, maybe a little on the smug side, but it felt good.

"Why is Voss allying with Viktor?" The thug's eyes snap back to Ekko, and then widen in fear. He stutters.

"U-Uh you heard of the uh strange six-legged fucker running about?" Ekko nods warily.

"Urgot. Collected a following, Sons of Ur. Dangerous and insane. What about them?" The thug nods, a desperate grin springing up onto his face. He looks pathetic, and sad.

"He's out for revenge on Voss, for putting him to work in the Dredge! Been scuttling about trying to get him for weeks!" Ekko nods, absorbing, mind in overdrive. His arm reflexively falls to his side. The thug hesitates, then legs it. Ekko lets him go. He goes into his old house and grabs everything useful, then rigs up what should - hopefully - be a Chrono-bomb. It was intended to explode, throwing the house and everything in it back in time, also replacing itself, so that it couldn't ever be entered, theoretically.

Though he very much doubted that it - much like all else he made - would work correctly, it should be interesting to see.

He set a Lost to watch the place, in case something went critically wrong, then set off for the newest Lost-and-Found.

* * *

They hadn't sent any missives, or requested any aid. This was either a good sign, or a very bad one. He wouldn't have worried if it both wasn't a new one and located in a very dangerous part of Zaun, one that even he tried his best to stay away from; he had once spent an entire week - or so it felt like - trying to escape from its greasy-aired streets and glass lined buildings. The Cultivair; a series of self-enclosed bubbles, built and owned by the wealthy and privileged of Zaun. It was a strange phenomenon; the sump, the slums at the very ass end of Zaun, were filled with rivers of caustic runoff and pools of impressively toxic chemicals. This filled the air with a more oppressive, try-your-luck layer of the Grey. Some days it was almost clear, some so thick you couldn't see your hand in front of your face, that is if you could stand upright through the wracking coughs. But here, at the very top, just before the chasm opened up some and the Bridgewaltz and the blurred borders of the Entresol bloomed, the Grey lingered like a opportunistic sump-scrapper, just waiting to claim some choice morsels.

But it was closest in proximity to Piltover, culturally, competitively, and most crucial, economically. It was filled with high-end private velvet-lined lounges, red-lit houses of inequity, and proxy owned Clan Chemtech workshops. Piltie's who wanted a more concrete, textured bite of Zaun could come here to spend so much money they could brag about it. It was home to several of the Chem-Barons, most of the other wealthy industry powerhouses, and a few Piltover augmentation magnates, looking to get the upper hand; seedy, intrepid, and unimaginably rich to the last.

But that came with a price. As previously mentioned, the Grey blanketed the area with a pall of literally-deathly-smog. To fix this problem, for it was troublesome in many ways, they had employed a variety of methods. The first was to, no matter the success of the others, insulate themselves. The houses there were all domes of gilded garishness, but critically, had all the Grey pumped out of them. The owners wanted the benefits of proximity to Piltover but the Grey was just too damning to ignore entirely. The other methods were almost new; cutting edge. Chemical neutralizers, turning the poisonous air into a clean - if slightly stale and musty - counterparts. Some biological - trees, flowers, even strange animals of questionable origin - some mechanical. Of course, this all makes for a very strange location for a Lost-and-Found. The Lost couldn't be seen as rich through a haze of Chem-fog on a dark night, and as such their home was much less fancy, conceited, or otherwise gaudy.

No, their abode was simple, maze-like, and made entirely of cast iron pipes that - hopefully - _used_ to carry Chem waste.

It ran across, up, down, and despite the large area it covered, was a little cramped. Some areas they had dug out, or carved into the cliffs. But most of it was a crisscrossing mesh of pipework, designed to allow easy and travel. Of course, much like everything in Zaun - and especially everything in Zaun that was Ekko's idea - it was a little less than ideal. Or predictable. Or, y'know, actually a plan of some sort and not just a random coincidence that led to a bunch of the Lost getting lost in the tunnels leading him to accidentally discover a way to them and everywhere else, no…

So to make sure that the maze stayed habitable, travelable, and to make sure no one discovered them or gave chase into the pipes, he had tasked a few dozen Lost to travel them every so often. They lived there, they knew the ins-and-outs of the place, and kept it safe. He had sent them perhaps a month ago, but they had since gone quiet. To be fair, it was quite hard for Ekko to track time accurately, so frankly, it was a little likely that it had only been a few days and he'd forgotten. Either way, it was a good opportunity to try out his idea of a secret path through Zaun and up into Piltover. It was quite hard to access the pipes directly from the sump so either way, he had a little bit of travel to do.

It took him about a day to get there, which was good considering it was only a three bell walk's distance.

* * *

The Chem had started flowing again.

Half of them were dead.

The other half were trapped.

They had no chance.

It was all his fault.

* * *

He came out of the pipes near the Entresol, and made his way to one of the several rickety, if not downright crumbling, bridges that snaked across the cliff side like the blight. They seemed to appear and vanish, apparently at random. He had spent a full day - an actual day, which meant a week for him - combing the tunnels for the Lost, dead or alive. He was supposed to meet Jayce's middle man soon, but that was never going to happen. The girl, - he scrabbled for her name, like a shimmerslave would for his next hit - Amaranthine, had told him how she'd gotten into his workshop, though most of it was the simple fact that a child could go many places a Zaunite sump snipe couldn't, especially one as cute and vulnerable as she was. The one problem; he was a Zaunite sump snipe.

So, given that her way in was not available to him, he would have to find another, and that began with the poor, miserable-looking apprenta waiting for him. He knew it wasn't one of Jayce's own, as indeed he had none. Not only were his standards elevated above normal people like Piltover was above the City of Iron and Glass, but those few who met them found themselves unable to stand him for any amount of time. The kid - he couldn't tell their gender from here, but their hair was long, in a bewildering display of shades that was the work of years standing over a caustic alembic. They had been sitting there for several hours, at the least, having created a veritable museum of art in dust lines.

"Welcome to Zaun." The kid jerked, leaping out of their skin. Ekko was a little remorseful over how funny it was.

"By the City of Progress, finally! Do you know how long I've been waiting here!?" Their voice is strong, and a little angry. That seems reasonable to him.

"Come on, then, Giopara will be waiting. Janna knows why I was sent here…" Without another word, they storm off. Ekko follows, a light smile crossing his face. He needs this.

"I didn't know Pilties talked to Janna." The kid - he thinks it's a girl - turns to glance at him.

"Mum did it all the time. Sort of picked it up. Sometimes helped, I guess. No harm." Their accent was strange, and he couldn't place it. Stilted, but strangely lilting, drawled but sharp. As inconsistent as his inventions.

"Where does your accent come from? I haven't heard it before." The streets grow visibly more well-made as they travel further from Zaun. "It's a very interesting one. Get it from your dad?" The - girl? - nods, simply, but does not elaborate. Suppose it was his fault for asking two questions at once. Seeming as how the girl was so reluctant to chat he shrugged and began examining the Z-Drive. It had been through a lot recently, and it always paid to make sure that it hadn't suffered any wear-and-tear. He found a tiny hairline fracture in the glass containment tank. Wincing, he looked up and -

"We're here. Go in the door." The apprenta vanishes into a hatch that he hadn't noticed, above which squats an unassuming door. He sighs, grimacing. He was supposed to rewind and show up unannounced, but he doesn't want to risk further damaging the Z-Drive. He trudges sullenly up to the door and opens it.

A long hallway stretches before him. The carpet is so soft he can feel it through his boots. Defunct prototypes and outdated models line the walls on podiums. He snags a few choice parts as he walks down the lavish artery. There are doors every so often, and he can hear voices coming from some of them - as well as through the ceiling - but he opts to continue walking. This pays off when he reaches what is clearly the entrance to a workshop. It is reinforced, the walls subtly different, concealing the concussive plates inside them. He can hear the sound of tools inside, and a pure blue light shines from under the door. He slams a fist into the door a few times, and when there is no reply, pushes it open.

It is, despite his greatest reservations, sceptical opinions, and overall lack of respect for Piltover, bloody amazing.

The walls are lined with racks and chests and hooks and tables and shelves and benches… Overflowing with parts and tools and gizmos and schematics, brimming with creativity and free-thinking design. It warms his heart, and for a moment he is speechless, his mind devouring the possibilities.

"Whoever that is, would you mind doing me a favour?" The voice - cultured, velvety smooth - draws him from his wet dream. He can just see the sculpted outline of a man hunched over something, both hands engaged in a whirling maelstrom of mechanical mastermind. Ekko strides over, enraptured. He can see that - who he presumes is Jayce - is startlingly busy. He's tinkering with some sort of object that pulses a sleet of colour.

"Hand me the- Oh, thank you." Ekko places the tool he needs into his outstretched hand, pre-empting his request, and comes around the bench. So far, Jayce ain't so bad. When he gets a look at his face and outfit, that slips a little. His face is chiselled, jaw square and rugged, a fine, fashionably scruffy stubble sprouting across his jaw line. His hair is swept artfully, his clothes cut to a perfect degree, and suitably pragmatic. But to Ekko… it's all just too damn perfect. He's a statue of immaculacy. He's intimidating in a sheer, intensive scrutiny sort of way; a small glance makes Ekko feel like a specimen, an interesting piece of tech under a microscope… Like just a little tuning will fix you right up.

Of course, at the current moment, he can see why such a man would be so successful. The object that is the fixation of his current whims is, indeed, getting a fix up with just a little tuning. It appears to be some sort of shoulder-mounted battery, with coils extending across the outside. There is a small plate in the middle, to which something is fastened. It's… A splinter, barely an inch long, but glowing from within, powerful, blue, that is lighting up the workshop.

"A Hex-crystal. But why connect it to a battery?" A smile - powerful, charismatic - alights Jayce's face as he shakes his head ever so slightly. He's adjusting the plate, perhaps the way it's supposed to interact with the crystal.

"The battery is indeed the object of the crystal's influence, but, not it's intended end purpose…" He performs a final tweak and steps back. Wisely, Ekko does the same, just before a field of lightning springs up around the battery. A dome of electricity; it cuts through the metal table at the apex of its reach, and scores a line into the floor. Ekko laughs and claps, crouching to take a closer look. It is controlled; the lightning doesn't seem to arc or flow, channelled cleanly into the field. He stands up, and then it cuts off. He grins at Jayce.

"Wow, that was pretty cool. Thought you didn't put stock in weapons?" The Z-Drive hums loudly, and flickers. Wincing, he quickly takes it off his belt and sits down at a stool. He can hear Jayce come over, steps deceptively light.

"It's a prototype. Work in progress. The other feature doesn't work yet, and as you can see, it doesn't last too long. Needs improvement. But I'm much more interested in this invention that I've heard so much about. And, if you are indeed the boy I invited here and not some passable lookalike that wandered in off the street, you must be Ekko." The kid in question nods distractedly. The crack has grown. He spins, meeting Jayce's gaze for the first time.

"Hey, yeah, nice to meet you. Have a welder?" Jayce nods, handing him the Chem-powered tool. A tank of brightly glowing green fuel, that creates a spot of heat powerful enough to melt straight through almost any metals. It's a marked improvement on the one he had access to, and he whistles appreciatively even as he applies it to the Z-Drive.

"So, what does it actually do? And pray tell, what happens if that containment tank were to break and it overloads?" Ekko sticks his tongue out unconsciously, voice distracted. The welder is a nice bonus; normally if the Z-Drive cracks he has to turn it off and replace the whole glass tube.

"Let's have a chat first… Actually, let me fix it first, then chat, then…" He trails off, letting Jayce's mind take over. Ekko can hear him thinking it over.

"Sounds reasonable." The boy nods, examining his handiwork, then starts again , the welder burning bright. A minute passes as Jayce makes notes on his technique, as Ekko had on his. A silence - professional, safe - falls, before finally Ekko's movements stop. Taking one last look at the Z-Drive, he stands, and returns it to his belt. He sticks out his hand.

"Ekko." His voice is short, but not cold. Reserved.

"Jayce, but you knew that. Welcome to Piltover." God, so smooth. Like honey. It's a little sickly, but not so bad.

"That's normally my line. So. Chat?" He hops up onto the bench, legs swinging. Jayce nods.

"Of course, but wouldn't you rather move to a more comfortable place?" In his experience, people don't come to his workshop to talk; they come to his workshop to get him to go to a lounge, where they can talk. Ekko shakes his head.

"Nah, right here's fine. Good a place as any, right?" Jayce nods slowly. He'd have to rethink his approximation.

"I don't have a problem with that…"


End file.
